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Authors: Laurence Yep
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doing anything. They might as well have been statues.
Scirye glanced at Lady Sudarshane, who was breathing softly. Her mother was the one who always made things right; since she was unconscious, Scirye would have to try her best to take her mother’s place. And she knew what her mother would say: Their family always put others before themselves.
So Scirye forced herself to rise to her feet. Half in a daze, she walked as slowly and stiffly as a zombie. Her boots crunched across broken glass and shattered antiques until she reached a Pippal who was lying down, gazing at the blood streaming from a gash in her arm.
Tearing off a strip of cloth from the hem of her tunic and with a piece of broken spear shaft, Scirye fastened a rude tourniquet above the injury. When she twisted the wood, the flow stopped. From far away, she could already hear the sound of ambulances rushing to the museum. This would do until they came.
When Scirye tried to speak, her first words came out as a croak so she made herself swallow. “Can you move?” she asked the Pippal.
When the Pippal nodded, Scirye used the same commanding tone her mother used when she wanted Scirye to do something without any argument from Scirye. “Then take care of Prince Etre.”
To Scirye’s relief, the Pippal dipped her head respectfully and got up to do what she had been told. The girl went among theKushana and the museum guards, rousing those with minor injuries to tend to those who were worse off. To Scirye’s surprise, they all obeyed.
Finally, she reached the two boys. They had braced their feet while they tried to shove the fallen monster off of their friend. Despite their best efforts, the monster’s corpse didn’t move at all. There was no sign of the man and Scirye was sure he could not have survived the crushing impact.
The brown-haired boy was panting as he pushed, calling out “Primo!” over and over. He ignored the blood pouring from the cut on his cheek.
Scirye grabbed the larger boy’s shoulder. “Stop your friend’s bleeding.”
The larger boy spread out his arms in frustration. “I’ve tried. Leech won’t let me.”
The brown-haired boy looked furiously over his shoulder at them. “Koko, we have to save Primo!”
Scirye was finding it hard to control her own hysterical grief. She grabbed hold of the frantic smaller boy and shook him. “You have to take care of your injury or you’ll hurt yourself worse. That’s what Primo would want.”
The boy stood stunned, as if she were speaking a foreign language. Taking advantage of the lull, Scirye tore a strip from her sleeve and pressed it against his wound. Luckily it did not seem to be very deep and the pressure stopped the bleeding. He stared at her with a sorrow so great that it made her forget her own losses for a moment. “Here. Hold this.”
He let her guide his hand to the temporary bandage. When she let go of him, he burst into tears. “He gave his life for us.”
His words renewed her own fears. “So did many others,” she said.
Checking the gallery, the girl saw that the rescue effort was wellunder way. The severely injured were being taken care of and made comfortable. They no longer needed her.
Now came the moment she had been dreading. Pivoting, she headed over to Nishke.
Her sister’s eyes, which had once danced with such life, were now dull. Her face was a mask of anger and despair.
Hoping against hope, Scirye knelt and took her sister’s wrist to feel for a pulse. She waited a minute. Then two. Then three. Then she stopped counting.
She wished with all her heart that Nishke would suddenly smile and tell her gullible little sister that she had fallen for yet another prank. But Scirye knew that Nishke never would. The girl’s shoulders sagged as she gently placed Nishke’s wrist over her stomach. Then she closed her sister’s eyes.
Scirye faced Nanaia. The goddess’s statue had become twisted around somehow during the battle so that she tilted at an
Scirye glanced at Lady Sudarshane, who was breathing softly. Her mother was the one who always made things right; since she was unconscious, Scirye would have to try her best to take her mother’s place. And she knew what her mother would say: Their family always put others before themselves.
So Scirye forced herself to rise to her feet. Half in a daze, she walked as slowly and stiffly as a zombie. Her boots crunched across broken glass and shattered antiques until she reached a Pippal who was lying down, gazing at the blood streaming from a gash in her arm.
Tearing off a strip of cloth from the hem of her tunic and with a piece of broken spear shaft, Scirye fastened a rude tourniquet above the injury. When she twisted the wood, the flow stopped. From far away, she could already hear the sound of ambulances rushing to the museum. This would do until they came.
When Scirye tried to speak, her first words came out as a croak so she made herself swallow. “Can you move?” she asked the Pippal.
When the Pippal nodded, Scirye used the same commanding tone her mother used when she wanted Scirye to do something without any argument from Scirye. “Then take care of Prince Etre.”
To Scirye’s relief, the Pippal dipped her head respectfully and got up to do what she had been told. The girl went among theKushana and the museum guards, rousing those with minor injuries to tend to those who were worse off. To Scirye’s surprise, they all obeyed.
Finally, she reached the two boys. They had braced their feet while they tried to shove the fallen monster off of their friend. Despite their best efforts, the monster’s corpse didn’t move at all. There was no sign of the man and Scirye was sure he could not have survived the crushing impact.
The brown-haired boy was panting as he pushed, calling out “Primo!” over and over. He ignored the blood pouring from the cut on his cheek.
Scirye grabbed the larger boy’s shoulder. “Stop your friend’s bleeding.”
The larger boy spread out his arms in frustration. “I’ve tried. Leech won’t let me.”
The brown-haired boy looked furiously over his shoulder at them. “Koko, we have to save Primo!”
Scirye was finding it hard to control her own hysterical grief. She grabbed hold of the frantic smaller boy and shook him. “You have to take care of your injury or you’ll hurt yourself worse. That’s what Primo would want.”
The boy stood stunned, as if she were speaking a foreign language. Taking advantage of the lull, Scirye tore a strip from her sleeve and pressed it against his wound. Luckily it did not seem to be very deep and the pressure stopped the bleeding. He stared at her with a sorrow so great that it made her forget her own losses for a moment. “Here. Hold this.”
He let her guide his hand to the temporary bandage. When she let go of him, he burst into tears. “He gave his life for us.”
His words renewed her own fears. “So did many others,” she said.
Checking the gallery, the girl saw that the rescue effort was wellunder way. The severely injured were being taken care of and made comfortable. They no longer needed her.
Now came the moment she had been dreading. Pivoting, she headed over to Nishke.
Her sister’s eyes, which had once danced with such life, were now dull. Her face was a mask of anger and despair.
Hoping against hope, Scirye knelt and took her sister’s wrist to feel for a pulse. She waited a minute. Then two. Then three. Then she stopped counting.
She wished with all her heart that Nishke would suddenly smile and tell her gullible little sister that she had fallen for yet another prank. But Scirye knew that Nishke never would. The girl’s shoulders sagged as she gently placed Nishke’s wrist over her stomach. Then she closed her sister’s eyes.
Scirye faced Nanaia. The goddess’s statue had become twisted around somehow during the battle so that she tilted at an
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